LIFE IN MY NORTHERN TOWN

NOW then, by the time you read this, England may be in the World Cup Final. Or possibly not.

Since this is being written on a Tuesday night and I am not very good at predicting the future, (Let’s be honest – if I was, I would not be sat here in this house writing this), I have no idea whether they will be playing on Sunday night or not.

I was due to be watching the semi-final and indeed will watch the Final, should it happen, in the Flying Horse – wearing the same clothes and standing in the same spot that I watched the quarter-final from.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not normally a superstitious person – except when it comes to England playing.

And my superstitions stretch to venues as well.

I cannot watch the game in the Litten Tree as we lost against Germany there in 2012, and the Regal Moon is out as we lost against somebody-or-other in God-knows-when, so my list of places I can watch the game is receding quickly.

I have three things I would like to see before I die.

1 – See Bury win the FA Cup. Highly unlikely.

2 – Win a million on the lottery. Even less likely than 1.

And 3 – See England win a World Cup in my lifetime.

Yes, I know technically we did so in 1966, but since I was only six at the time and more interested in Lego and annoying the cat, it does not count.

I have been a big England fan ever since I lost my Lego bricks and the cat died and I suddenly discovered football.

Indeed, I even went to Spain in 1982 to watch the team along with various characters from the Dick Whittington pub in town.

And a fabulous trip it was too.

And it wasn’t as corporate as it is now, with match tickets readily available from some bloke who would not look out of place selling petrol rations in the Second World War.

So I was awaiting Wednesday night’s game with trepidation but also pride at how far and how much this team has grown over the last four weeks or so.

I, like many others, was not happy with Southgate as manager but I am so glad he has stuffed the criticism down our collective throats.

Football’s coming home.